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A niggling thought told her that not only was she trying in vain to ignore how attracted she was to him—especially when he openly stared at her with interest, as he was doing right now, with particular attention focused on her mouth—but that it would hurt to have another person reject her. Which, rationally, she knew was crazy. They barely knew each other. But even after so many rejections it still hurt when others turned her away.
Working for him would be the kick-start her career needed. Even a week of working with him would open doors for her.
But she was a mess.
She had come to Venice to heal and to get her game plan together. She felt hollow and abused. She was in no position to deliver the best performance of her career.
A mocking voice echoed in her head. You said you were going to toughen up. Time for action and a lot less talk.
And having a purpose, being busy, might stop the stream of guilt and sadness that was constantly threatening to break through her defences—defences of shock and numbness, of a determination to tough it out. Being in control, having a structure to her days, was what she needed.
She spoke before she had time to talk herself out of it. ‘I’ll do it.’
His gaze moved from her lips to her eyes. Very slowly. So slowly that time seemed to stand still while her cheeks spontaneously combusted.
‘You?’
Did he have to sound so appalled by her proposal?
‘In my role at the fashion college I often helped pull events together—from the graduation show to organising the visits of academics and sponsors. Last year I co-ordinated the visit of some members of a faculty from a Chinese fashion college. I’m in need of a place to stay...you need an event co-ordinator.’
‘But you’re on holiday.’
‘My career is more important. I’ll be frank: having the Vieri name on my CV will be priceless.’
He seemed to be considering her proposal. For a moment hope danced before her eyes. But then he cut that hope off at the legs with a single determined shake of that movie-star-meets-roman-emperor head.
‘It’s not a good idea.’
‘Why?’
‘This trip is of critical importance to my companies. The delegation is coming to negotiate contracts which would see the large-scale expansion of our product placements in China’s most prestigious department stores. Nothing can go wrong.’
For a moment she considered backing down, admitting that she was probably the wrong person for the job. But she had to believe in herself.
‘You can brief me on it this morning, and then I’ll liaise with the travel agents and hotels involved. I’ll also double-check that all the protocols involved with hosting Chinese guests are followed. If there are any issues I will notify you immediately.’
He leaned one hip against the balcony and folded his arms. ‘It’s not a nine-to-five position. You would need to attend all the scheduled events with me.’
‘That’s no problem.’
Those brown eyes darkened. ‘We will be working closely together.’
‘That’s fine.’
Liar! Why is your belly dancing with giddiness if that is the case?
‘Please understand I never mix business with pleasure.’
Why was he telling her that? Was her attraction to him so obvious?
‘Of course. Exactly my sentiments.’ She took a deep swallow and forced herself to ask, ‘So, can I have the job?’
‘Tell me why I should give it to you.’
This would be so much easier if he wasn’t so gorgeous—if he wasn’t so self-assured, so ice-cool.
‘I will work myself to the bone for you because I have so much to prove. To you—but especially to myself.’
He stared at her as though she was a discount store garment made of polyester. It looked as if she would be packing soon. A heavy sensation sat on her chest—embarrassment, disappointment.
‘As I’m stuck, I’ll let you take on the position—but any mishaps and you’re gone.’
His scowl told her he wasn’t joking. Her ankle and heart began to throb in unison.
He came a little closer. Studied her for far too long for her comfort.
‘You will need to stay here...’
For a moment he paused, and a heavy boom of attraction detonated between them. She fell into the brown sultry depths of his eyes. An empty ache coiled through her. Heat licked against her skin. She pulled the neck of her jumper down, suddenly overheating.
Matteo stepped back, tugged at his cuffs and cleared his throat. ‘I will require frequent briefings from you, so you will need to stay here. I’m hosting a reception in the ballroom on Thursday night, which I will want you to co-ordinate and host alongside me.’ He flicked his hand towards the palazzo. ‘If you come with me to my office I’ll brief you on the event schedule and then pass you the files.’
Emma walked alongside him, her enflamed skin welcoming the shade of the palazzo. But her mind continued to race, asking her what on earth she had just done.
Could she keep her promise that nothing would go wrong? What if she slipped up and he saw even a glimpse of how attracted she was to him? An attraction that was embarrassingly wrong. Humiliatingly wrong. Shamefully wrong. She had been about to marry another man yesterday. What was the matter with her?
They walked side by side into the deeper shadows of the palazzo, and she felt guilt and sadness closing over her heart.
* * *
Later that afternoon, his phone to his ear, Matteo walked into the temporary office Emma had set up for herself in the palazzo’s dining room.
Sheets of paper were scattered across the table. He tidied the paper into a bundle. A long navy silk crêpe de Chine scarf dotted with bright red gerbera daisy flowers was tossed across the back of a chair, the ends touching against the terrazzo flooring. A bright exclamation against the dark wood. He folded it quickly and hid it from view by placing it on the seat of the dining chair.
His call continued to ring unanswered.
Where was she?
He had told her to be back at the palazzo by four so that he could take her to see his stores on Calle Larga XXII Marzo. She needed to be familiar with his companies and their products before her interactions with the clients.
Before lunch they had spent two hours running through the visit’s itinerary. Two hours during which he had questioned his judgement in agreeing to her taking over the event co-ordinator role.
With her every exclamation of delight over the events planned, with every accidental touch as they worked through the files, with every movement that caused her jumper to pull on her breasts he had become more and more fixated with watching her.
And throughout the morning she had progressively impressed and surprised him with her attention to detail. Impressed him because she had picked up on some timing problems he hadn’t spotted. Surprised him because, tidiness-wise, the woman was a disaster.
Obviously timekeeping wasn’t a strength either.
The Chinese delegation were arriving in Venice this evening. He had to be at Hotel Cipriani at eight to greet them on their arrival. Emma had travelled over there, at her suggestion, after lunch to meet with the hotel co-ordinator and the interpreter employed for the duration of the visit.
He hit the call button again.
After yet more infuriating rings, she eventually answered.
He didn’t wait for her to speak, ‘Dove sei? Where are you?’
‘I’m not sure.’ There was a hint of panic to her voice. ‘After my meetings in Hotel Cipriani I decided I would visit the restaurant booked for the clients later this week on Giudecca. I found the restaurant and spoke to the owner and the chef. But when I left I must have gone in the wrong direction, because I’m totally lost. I can’t find my way back to the vaporetto stop.’
Now he really was regretting his decision to employ her. ‘Can’t you ask someone to help you?’
‘I have! But each time I follow their directions I end up even more lost down another narrow alleyway.’
Dio! ‘Can you see a street name anywhere?’
‘Hold on...yes, I see one! Calle Ca Rizzo.’
‘Stay there. I’ll come and get you.’
‘There’s no need. I’ll—’
He hung up before she had time to start arguing with him. It was already past four.
* * *
Emma placed her phone back into her padded jacket’s pocket, her already racing heart now acting as if it was taking part in the international finals of the one hundred metre sprint. The day had been going so well until she had gone and got lost in this warren of laneways or, as they were called locally, calli that made up Giudecca, an island suburb of Venice.
Her meetings in the opulent surroundings of Hotel Cipriani had gone smoothly, all the little extras she’d requested had been accommodated, and she had then made her way to Ristorante Beccherie, excited at the stunning views across the water to St Mark’s Square, the Basilica di San Marco and the Campanile clearly visible under the clear blue sky.
After her meeting at the restaurant she hadn’t minded getting lost at first. She had been enchanted by the three-and four-storey medieval red-brick houses on deserted narrow alleyways, by the washing hanging between the houses like bunting, the endless footbridges crossing over the maze of canals. The lack of the sounds of the twenty-first century because of the absence of cars.
But as she’d grown increasingly disorientated, her uneasiness had increased. She’d ended up in dead-end alleyways, silent and beautiful courtyards with no obvious signage.
Matteo was annoyed with her. No—scratch that. He’d sounded ballistic. Would he fire her on her first day?
She walked over to the canal that ran diagonally to the start of Calle Ca Rizzo and moved down onto the canal steps. The temperature was dropping and the cold stone bit against her skin.
Matteo was like Venice. Utterly beautiful but completely frustrating. All morning she had tried to remain professional, but she had been constantly distracted.
Distracted by his deep, potent musky scent when he moved closer to her to point something out in the file sitting between them.
Distracted by the perfect fit of his grey trousers on his narrow hips when he stood.
Distracted by the sight of his large hand lying on the table beside her: golden skin, wide palm, smooth knuckles, long, strong fingers tapering off into pale pink nails, all perfectly clipped into smooth ovals. Several times she had lost her concentration to those hands, dreaming about them on her skin, removing her clothes...
She had been glad of an excuse to get away from the palazzo, needing some space to pull herself together.
She dropped her head into her hands. What was she doing? Why was she having these thoughts? She wasn’t interested in men. In any form of relationship. She had a job to do. And falling for the boss was not only out of the question it was beyond stupid. Well, she hoped she still had a job to do. Maybe not when he arrived...
Fifteen minutes later she saw him stop on a footbridge further down the canal and stare towards her. His hip-length black wool pea coat was topped with a dark grey woollen hat. The pull of attraction tugged on every cell in her body. His mouth was turned downwards in a you’re in big trouble scowl.
She jumped up and tried to match his stride in her direction, but her legs were too wobbly so she careened her way along the canal bank, probably looking as if she had recently consumed a considerable amount of Chianti.
When they met her words of apology became lost. His hat hugged his skull, emphasising the intensity of his golden-brown eyes framed by thick black eyelashes, the beauty of his honey-coloured skin, the proud straight nose, the no-nonsense mouth softened by the cleft in his chin.
That gorgeous mouth hardened. ‘We are late for our appointments.’
Did that mean he wasn’t going to fire her?
Without another word he walked away and she followed alongside him, over countless bridges and through a maze of calli. They passed few people, and in the tight confines of the laneways he seemed taller and more powerful than she remembered.
She gave a quick summary of her meetings, updating him on any changes. Hoping his mood might improve. He made no comment but gave an occasional nod. At least he was listening.
Eventually they arrived at the broad reach of Canale della Giudecca and he led her to a sleek, highly polished wooden motor boat moored at a landing stage.
After untying the two mooring ropes he held the stern tight against the wooden stage. He held out his hand to her. ‘You need to climb aboard.’
She hesitated for a moment, suddenly wary of touching him. But, with the boat swaying in the choppy waters, she decided she’d risk holding his hand over the chagrin of being crushed against the landing stage.
His hand encased hers, and his powerful strength guided her on board. For a crazy few seconds she was engulfed by the sensation that she would always be safe with him in her life.
With practised ease Matteo pulled the boat away from the stage and was soon heading across the canal towards St Mark’s Square.
‘I’m sorry I got lost. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.’
He gave that ubiquitous continental shrug that might mean he accepted her apology with some reservations or was so irritated by her that he couldn’t speak.
At first she thought he was going back up the Grand Canal to Ca’ Divina, but just west of St Mark’s Square he turned right and slowly motored up a smaller canal. The canal was busy with gondolas, the majority of their passengers embracing and kissing couples.
She plucked her phone out of her pocket and pressed some buttons mindlessly. She had thought she wouldn’t mind seeing couples together, enjoying this city of romance. Boy, had she been wrong.
A heavy pain constricted her chest.
She was supposed to be here with her husband. Not with a man who was clearly irritated with her. Not with a man who in truth she was more attracted to than she had ever been to her fiancé.
That truth was shaming.
That truth was bewildering.
* * *
‘As I explained this morning, five of my companies have a presence here on Calle Larga.’
Matteo came to a stop outside the type of store Emma would window shop at when walking along Bond Street in London but would never dare to enter, knowing her monthly salary wouldn’t even buy her a set of barely there but, oh, so gorgeous underwear.
He pointed along the bustling street. ‘Verde for handbags, Marco for shoes, Osare is the label for our younger urban clients... Gioiello stocks daywear, and...’ Gesturing to the store behind them, he added, ‘And VMV for the discerning.’
Was he aware of the constant looks of appreciation he received from passers-by? How within the VMV store a bevy of model-like assistants were flapping their arms in excitement at his imminent entrance?
